


The Profit in Wishing

by anamia



Series: Accidental Magic [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Gen, The Importance of Doing Your Research Ahead Of Time, grey!Harry, multiplicity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An orphaned and friendless Harry Potter allows himself to be used as a test subject and makes a rather foolish wish. Next thing he knows he's sharing a body with another, much angrier Harry Potter, and neither of them knows how to reverse the situation. Until they figure it out they'll have to live together, something which proves precisely as difficult as it sounds. Of course, nothing is ever easy when you're Harry Potter, and this is only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pectus pectoris votum

**Author's Note:**

> “How can you know what you want ‘til you get what you wish and you know if you like it?”
> 
> ~Cinderella, Into the Woods

Harry Potter, forgotten child of martyred parents, looked away from Hermione's wand and wondered not for the first time just what he thought he was doing. Hermione had been insistent on trying out this spell, and it hadn't taken much to get Harry to agree to be a test subject. Hermione Granger could be an extremely frightening witch when she set her mind to it and most of Gryffindor House knew to just give her what she wanted. Over the years Harry had become a preferred test subject, mostly because no one would notice if anything went wrong. Harry himself had long since accepted that he was essentially invisible to those around him except when they needed him to do something for them, and he knew better than to make a fuss about it. Even before starting Hogwarts he'd known better than to make a fuss. No one liked difficult children, especially not orphaned ones.

"Now remember," Hermione said, "concentrate on something you want."

Harry nodded. He didn't actually know what he wanted. Well, he did, but somehow he doubted that Hermione's spell would be able to give him a fresh start in life. Not unless she managed to kill him, or send him back in time to before his parents died, at least.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded again, despite the fact that he was not at all ready. She would just pressure him to hurry up if he admitted to not knowing what to wish for, and Hermione pressuring you was not at all conducive to concentrating on anything.

Hermione took a deep breath and, with a wave of her wand that no doubt came from hours of wordless practice, cast the spell to give Harry his heart's desire.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a very different world, an equally different Harry Potter was running for his life. His breath came in painful gasps but he ignored it, focusing instead on making it to the safe house relatively unscathed. He dodged a bolt of spellfire and shot a blasting charm towards his pursuer, not really caring if it hit or not. Killing his pursuer would be a nice bonus, but it really wasn't the purpose of the exercise. He just wanted to stall the Death Eater as long as possible and prevent him from calling for backup.

Harry jumped over a tree branch and ducked another spell, barely avoiding being grazed. He didn't know what it was and he didn't care. Nothing cast from a Death Eater's wand was something he wanted touching him. This particular Death Eater wasn't one of the more skilled ones, but he had anti-apparition wards up and he had a great deal more stamina than Harry. Most of Harry's early training in running had been sprinting, not long distance chases, and his pursuer was catching up steadily.

He tossed back another blasting charm and followed it up with a severing hex, hoping he at least hit a branch of some kind to inhibit the Death Eater a little. He didn't stop to see if it had worked or not, but kept running, doing his best not to run into any branches of his own. Each breath burned in his lungs, and he knew that unless he made it to the safe house or shook the Death Eater soon he would be caught. The thought gave him an extra burst of speed: Harry Potter had not survived nineteen years in this world to be finally killed by a lack of _endurance_.

He swerved right, then back left, weaving through the trees as best he could without losing his footing. More spells hurtled towards him, most of which he managed to avoid. A cutting curse grazed his right shoulder, and he hissed in pain but didn't slow down. He didn't even take the time to send spells back, focusing all his attention and energy on getting away. He could _see_ the safe house now, or rather the illusion of the safe house that would act as a portkey to the actual safe house once Harry managed to spit out the password. All he had to do was reach it before the Death Eater and without getting tripped or hit by spellfire. Harder than it sounded, given the circumstances, but definitely doable.

He could hear the Death Eater's footsteps behind him, coming increasingly closer, and he risked slowing down to throw a series of stinging hexes back at him. A yelp told him that he'd connected at last but he didn't take the time to celebrate. If the Death Eater was within range when the portkey activated, he would end up at the safe house too, and Harry couldn't let that happen. They'd had too many safe houses compromised; they couldn't afford to lose this one too. Harry was prepared to give himself up rather than expose his friends like that, but really he would rather get away completely. Fate owed him more than a little good luck at this point.

The illusion came ever closer, and he dove the last few feet, gasping out the password as he did so. He felt the sudden jerking sensation of a portkey and sagged with relief. The relief was short lived. A second or so later he felt himself being jerked off course. His body flailed against the unexpected tugging and Harry strained to both see what was going on and get free of the foreign pull. Nothing he tried worked, and soon he felt himself travelling much faster than before, guided through space by a completely unfamiliar force. He thought he might be screaming, but be couldn't hear any sound. Around him he could see only blackness, but he closed his eyes anyway. Maybe if he didn't look at what was going on he would be able to pretend it wasn't happening. Not that Harry was capable of lying to himself that much, but he certainly tried.

The movement came to an extremely sudden stop and Harry's body slammed to the ground. He groaned, keeping his eyes closed. Most of him very much did not want to know where he'd ended up. In his experience anything that could hijack a portkey like that was far too powerful and he didn't want to mess with it.

Slowly his brain managed to process the sounds of a voice and he frowned, keeping his eyes closed. It sounded... concerned. Scared even. Not angry or gloating. It also sounded _young_. Not that any of those things completely ruled out a trick of Voldemort's, but it definitely made it less likely. He peeked out through one eyelid and practically did a double take. His other eye popped open and he stared around, mouth dropping open. He was lying crumpled on the floor, but he barely noticed. His entire attention was fixed on the room in which he now found himself. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words emerged. Finally, "What the _fuck_?"

"Harry?" He turned his head, recognizing the concerned voice from earlier, and saw Hermione standing nearby, looking shocked. She held her wand pointed at his face, and before he could stop himself he rose and knocked the wand out of her hand, barely keeping himself from reflexively snapping it. This did nothing to wipe the shocked expression from her face, though she looked slightly angrier now. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Give that back!"

"Why were you pointing it at me?" Harry asked, not relinquishing his hold on the wand. "And what the _Hell_ am I doing here?" He blinked, really looking at her for the first time. "And why are you young again?"

She was looking genuinely concerned now. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital wing," she said. "Something must have gone wrong with the spell. You won't mention what we were doing, will you?"

"I can hardly mention what we were doing if I have no idea what that was," Harry said, not moving. "And I don't need to go to the hospital wing anyway. I need answers. Where the hell am I and who are you?"

"You're at Hogwarts," Hermione said, speaking slowly as though to an idiot. "In the library. I'm Hermione. I'm your friend, remember?"

"Like Hell you are," Harry said. His brain was finally starting to recover enough from the impact and the subsequent shock to properly take stock of his situation. "You're not my Hermione at all. She'd never accept being disarmed for this long."

"What do you mean your Hermione?" she wanted to know. "There's only one of me. Harry, I really think you should go see Madame Pomfrey."

"No," Harry said firmly. "You said not to mention what we were doing. What exactly was that?"

"You agreed to help me with a new spell," Hermione said. "Do you really not remember?"

"Of course not. If I remembered I wouldn't be asking. What spell?"

"Pectus pectoris votum," she said. He blinked.

"Never heard of it. What's it meant to do?"

"Harry, I explained this to you at least a dozen times. It grants you the thing you wish for the most."

"That can't be legal," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Of course it is!" Hermione exclaimed, looking scandalized. "I would never do anything illegal Harry! How dare you accuse me of doing such a thing?"

" _Definitely_ not my Hermione," Harry muttered, ignoring her muttering. His brain raced, trying to figure out what was going on. Obviously this Hermione was not the one he knew. Nor was this his Hogwarts, since that one had burned down months ago. It could be an elaborate trap, but he discounted that thought almost immediately. Even if Voldemort was smart enough to set this kind of trap, none of his Death Eaters were skilled enough to pull it off, especially without attracting attention. Which meant... "What's the date?" he asked, interrupting Hermione's ranting.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "October 3rd," she said.

"No, the year," he said impatiently.

"How can you have forgotten the _year_?" she wanted to know. "1995."

His eyes widened. "Oh." He felt his heartbeat start speeding up and forced himself to stay calm. "I think I need to sit down." As he spoke he stepped backwards and bumped into a chair. He collapsed into it.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"No," Harry said shortly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd managed to travel nearly five years back in time. "I'm pretty sure I've somehow come back in time." He frowned. "This should be impossible."

"Back in time?" He didn't need to look up to see that she didn't believe him. "Don't be absurd. That's impossible."

"That's what I just said," Harry agreed. "Except it doesn't make _sense_." Hermione had never tried that spell on him during fifth year. And where was Ron? They hadn't been fighting much that year, as far as Harry remembered. Unless... "Who's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"Professor Moody, of course," Hermione said.

Definitely more than just time travel then. "I'll need a newspaper," he muttered, more to himself than to Hermione. "And a way back. Hey, can you cast that spell on me again do you think? Maybe it'd send me back." He paused, then changed his mind. "Actually scratch that idea. It'd probably just bring people back from the dead and that won't help me right now. No point breaking even more laws of magic."

"What are you going on about?" Hermione demanded. Curiosity warred with suspicion in her voice and expression, and Harry thanked Merlin that it had been Hermione, of all people, he'd met first. Even at fifteen she could be counted on to consider an intellectual challenge reason to keep talking to a dangerous stranger.

"I don't think this is my past," he said. "I think that spell pulled me into another dimension."

"There's no such thing as other dimensions," Hermione scoffed.

Harry shrugged. "I kind of specialize in the impossible," he said. "Comes with the territory of being Boy-who-lived, really."

"You're not the Boy-who-lived. What are you talking about?"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Really?” Voldemort had gone after Neville then. Or maybe there was no prophecy at all. But no, Hermione recognized the title. Unless it was some weird fluke of fate. Harry grimaced and did his best to calm his racing thoughts. Figuring out all the possible variables was Hermione’s thing, not his. His Hermione, not the one standing in front of him staring. His grimace deepened. This was going to get confusing.

“Of course you’re not!” this Hermione said.

“ _Definitely_ an alternate universe." He grinned slightly. "Merlin, Neville won't believe it when I tell him." If he ever got back to tell Neville, of course. Harry did his best not to think of that and focus on the situation at hand instead.

"Alternate universes don't exist," Hermione repeated, though she sounded less certain now. "And even if they did I certainly don't know how to summon someone from one."

"It must have been the spell." Harry wished his Hermione were somehow here instead of this one. Not that this one wasn't most likely a lovely person, but his Hermione had much more experience with Harry's particular brand of impossibility and she wouldn't be wasting his time trying to prove that he was lying.

"What do you mean it must have been the spell?" Hermione demanded. "I'm positive Harry didn't wish for himself from another universe to come."

Harry shrugged. "Do you actually know what he wished for?" he wanted to know.

"No," Hermione admitted. "But it wouldn't ever occur to him to wish for that." She paused, then frowned. "Where is he, anyway? If you're in his body..." she trailed off, and Harry too frowned.

"I don't know," he admitted. "This kind of thing is really not my area of expertise. But if I can get home then hopefully he'll come back and it'll all be fine. The question is how do I go about _getting_ home?"

"I could try the spell again." She didn't sound very certain that it was a good idea, and Harry shook his head.

"I don't actually know my deepest wish right now," he said. "Maybe if I could look in the Mirror of Erised first, but I don't have the first idea where to find it in this dimension, if it even still exists."

"The Mirror of Erised?"

"Shows you your heart's desire. Not important." He rose and started pacing, frowning fiercely.

"Er, it's going to be curfew soon," Hermione said. "Maybe you should figure this out back in the common room?"

Harry grimaced. "I'd like to get back as soon as possible," he said. "What I _really_ need is the restricted section, but I can't get in there."

"Of course not!" Hermione said, sounding shocked that he would even consider the possibility. "It's restricted for a reason!"

"I'm surprised the book your spell came from wasn't there," Harry said darkly, glaring at the section in question.

"Er," Hermione mumbled.

"Wait, it _was_?" Harry turned to stare at her, not bothering to keep the astonishment off his face. "And you _tried_ it? On a _human_? Who _wasn't_ a Death Eater? Are you completely _mad_?"

"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed. "And I didn't realize what it could do!"

"It's restricted for a reason," Harry said darkly, throwing her own words back at her. His Hermione had learned not to play with dangerous spells without doing all her research after being accidentally turned into a cat. Apparently this one had failed to learn that lesson.

"We still need to get back to the common room," Hermione said, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Otherwise we'll both get in trouble."

Harry rolled his eyes. He hadn't been scared of getting detention since second year, if that. After spending three years fighting Voldemort's forces, the idea of getting detention and losing points seemed positively quaint.

Hermione, apparently, did not see it the same way. She looked positively scandalized at his lack of concern. "It's a restricted spell!" she hissed. "We could get expelled for trying it!"

"We?" Harry demanded. " _I_ didn't do anything. And why did you try it if it's restricted, anyway?"

"I didn't think Harry would want anything illegal," Hermione said defensively. "I just thought he'd want a better potions grade or something."

"Which would be cheating," Harry pointed out.

"He couldn't have kept it up," Hermione said dismissively, and Harry scowled, annoyed on behalf of his alternate self.

"Still. I don't think you thought this through particularly well."

"Well it happened," Hermione said. "And if anyone finds out I'll get expelled."

"You know, that really doesn't convince me to keep quiet," Harry said. "From where I stand, you did something dangerous and stupid and I'm here because of that."

"I'm your friend though!" Hermione practically wailed.

"The Hermione from my world is my friend," Harry corrected. "I don't even know you." He sighed. "Luckily for you, I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet." If he exposed what she’d done he might be able to find someone who could send him back. On the other hand he might also end up a pawn of various powerful people. He’d had more than enough of _that_ to last several lifetimes.

She all but sagged in relief. "Let's go then. We don't want to be out after curfew."

"You don't want to be, you mean," Harry corrected, but he stopped pacing anyway. "Lead the way."

"You don't know where the common room is?" She frowned, having apparently not even considered the possibility that he might not be a Gryffindor.

"Of course I know where it is," Harry assured her. "But you know the password."

"Oh. Right." She took a deep breath and picked up her book bag. "Er, can I have my wand back?"

Harry handed it over and she put in her pocket. He grimaced slightly, remembering the innumerable lectures about wand safety he'd had from Moody, most of which focused _not_ keeping your wand in your pocket, but didn't comment. They left the library in silence, making their way through sparsely populated corridors up to the Gryffindor common room. Harry did his best not to stare too much, but it was hard. Seeing Hogwarts as it had been was harder than he would have thought, and it took significant effort to keep from running his hands lovingly over all the walls and paintings.

Hermione let them into the common room and once again memories assaulted Harry. He forced himself to keep moving until he found an armchair near the fire, into which he sat heavily, focusing on breathing evenly. Around him people came and went, but no one came to talk to him, and the armchair next to his remained empty. He barely noticed, entirely focused on soaking in as much of Hogwarts as he could. It had been so _long_ since he'd been able to just sit in the Gryffindor common room, or walk through the hallways from the library, or even climb the ever-moving stairs. He'd never really gotten over the destruction of the only home he'd ever known, though in his personal timeline it had happened months ago now. A tiny part of him didn't want to go back. Hogwarts lay in ruins back home, a crumbling testament to Voldemort's looming victory. Even if their ragtag band of fighters managed to somehow win the war and rebuild it wouldn't be the same.

"Don't be selfish Potter," he muttered aloud, forcing his mind away from such thoughts. He couldn't leave his friends to fight alone, not when he was the only person who could kill Voldemort. This world had its own Boy-Who-Lived. It didn't need Harry too. And he would much rather be with his friends than the people here, Hogwarts or not. He winced and hurriedly shoved the thought of his friends away. Ron and Hermione were probably going mental, and that was assuming they _hadn't_ found his body. It they had, well... Harry didn't envy any Death Eaters the pair might find in the near future. Not that he ever envied Death Eaters anything, of course.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned towards it instinctively, barely keeping himself from drawing his wand. War instincts were all very well, but they wouldn't serve him well in this kind of environment, not if he didn't want to be thought of as a potential Death Eater himself.

It turned out to be just a first year moving past him to go upstairs. Harry forced himself to relax. Nothing would hurt him here. He was safe. The concept barely meant anything to him anymore, not after three years spent running. Despite his best efforts he found himself starting at shadows and his hands ached from being clenched so hard.

At last, unable to bear it any longer, he rose and made his way upstairs. It didn’t even occur to him until he’d gone halfway up that his dormitory might not be on the same floor as back home. Carefully he peered into his usual room, and was relieved to find a trunk proudly sporting Dean’s West Ham poster. He fought down the wave of nostalgia at the sight and looked around, wondering which bed was his.

It proved to be the one in the very corner of the room, right next to Neville. Harry noted that it was pushed as far against the wall as possible and his eyebrows rose a bit. Either this Harry really valued his privacy or the others really didn’t like him. At least that relative isolation would serve Harry well until he could figure out how to get out of here.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, resisting the urge to fill its every inch with protective magic. If he was going to tamp down the war instincts while he was here, flooding his bed with magic would not be a good way to start. The curtains had rudimentary protections on them already. They would be enough for now. Maybe he would reevaluate later if it proved to be an issue.

Resolutely, Harry set his wand under his pillow, noting as he did so that it wasn’t the one he was used to. Well, that made sense. Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived here. Of course he would be the one with the phoenix feather core. Once, Harry would have felt a pang of loss for his old wand, but he’d fought with enough wands not his own over the years that most of the sentimental attachment to his original one was long since gone. A wand was a wand, really.

He pulled the curtains closed, relaxing slightly as the protective magic that would keep anyone from surprising him during the night settled over him. He might be trying to decrease his paranoia a bit, but Harry had spent the past three years practically bathed in protective magic, and even the little trace of it he felt now was calming. Not that he was anywhere near _calm_ , but every little bit helped.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, settling himself as best he could for his nightly Occlumancy exercises. Not that he'd be able to get anything done, riled up as he was, but he'd promised Hermione -- _his_ Hermione -- that he'd try every night and even being in a different dimension wouldn't get him out of it. So he tried his best to clear his mind, keeping his breathing deep and even as he did so. If nothing else the exercise helped him relax, loosening his muscles and draining some of the tension from his body. Not all of it, but some was better than none at all.

As he worked to clear his mind he became aware of something strange lurking at the corners of his consciousness. Some of the reading Hermione had done about Occlumancy, back when they still had regular access to books, had mentioned that each person had an individualized mindscape which they could access with the right kind of concentration. Harry had seen his a few times, but for the most part he'd focused on building walls to keep Voldemort out as much as possible. The dark wizard delighted in smashing through Harry's defenses at every possible opportunity, but Hermione insisted that he keep trying. Arguing with Hermione was even _more_ exhausting than getting his defenses smashed by Voldemort, especially after Luna sided with her and started telling rambling stories about creatures and people Harry had never heard of. According to Neville, who probably understood Luna best out of everyone, all her stories had a point, but frankly Harry would rather just give in than try to work out what she was actually trying to say.

So it was to his mindscape that Harry turned now, shifting his concentration somewhat. Like everything else, accessing his mindscape got easier with practice, and it only took a few minutes for Harry to climb through his mental representation of the fat lady's portrait into his personal mindscape. The Gryffindor common room lay before him, identical to the one he'd just left save for its lack of people.

Except that this time it wasn't empty at all. A figure sat in one of the armchairs, gaping at Harry. His hair was black and messy, and his eyes a bright, instantly recognizable green. He was a great deal skinnier than Harry, and obviously younger, but there was no mistaking his identity. Harry had just found the original owner of this body.

For a long moment the two of them stared at each other. The younger Harry's expression cycled between scared, confused, and angry, while the older Harry did his best to keep his face impassive as he sorted through his options. Obviously he would have to tell his younger self the full truth. Maybe even offer to give up control of the body, though honestly Harry had no idea how to actually go about doing that. His paranoid side, which sounded rather like Mad-Eye Moody, shrieked at him to tread carefully, but he ignored it. The younger Harry deserved an explanation. After all, if it had been _Harry's_ body he would sure as hell have wanted to know what was going on.

Finally he broke the silence. "Er, hi. This is going to sound insane but I seem to be you."

 


	2. Two's a crowd

"So you're _actually_ from a different dimension?"

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. He didn't actually have a headache -- he wasn't entirely sure that this mental projection could feel pain -- but he could almost feel one anyway. "Yes."

"And you got here because I wished for you to come?"

"I assume so." Harry really hoped this would be the last time he and his younger double went through this. He didn't know how time passed in his mind, but it certainly _felt_ as though they'd been going around in circles for ages. Even this dimension's Hermione had been easier to convince than this, and she hadn't seen him the way he _should_ look, like his double could.

"But that doesn't make sense! I didn't wish for that!"

"What did you wish for?" Harry wanted to know.

The younger Harry mumbled something completely incomprehensible.

"Speak up, I can't hear you."

The younger Harry winced, but obligingly raised his voice. "I asked for a fresh start."

"And that got me?" Harry grimaced. "I'm starting to understand why that spell is illegal where I come from. It clearly has very _strange_ ideas of how to answer wishes."

"You're sure it wasn't something from... wherever it is you come from?"

"Not positive," Harry admitted. "But it doesn't seem likely. Last time I checked you died when you were hit by Avada Kedavra, you weren't sent to a different dimension to possess your younger self."

"Avada Kedavra?" The younger Harry frowned up at him.

"The killing curse? One of the unforgivables? Didn't you do this last year?"

Mutely, the younger Harry shook his head.

"Wait, who taught Defense last year?"

"Professor Bones," the younger Harry said.

"Susan Bones' aunt?"

"No. It was a man."

One of her other relatives, then. Harry vaguely remembered that Susan had had uncles killed shortly after Voldemort returned the first time. "He didn't happen to be a Death Eater, did he?"

"No! Dumbledore wouldn't let a Death Eater teach here!"

"You'd be surprised," Harry muttered. "But anyway. I assume it was your Hermione's spell that dragged me here, since I doubt any of Voldemort's minions could do it, even by accident." The younger Harry winced at Voldemort's name and Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, he'd be angry if they did it on purpose, and none of them are _that_ stupid. I don't think they are, at least." He tilted his head to the side, considering. "Bellatrix might just be mad enough to try, but she cares too much about pleasing him to go against his wishes like that. And I doubt any of the Malfoys are good enough to pull it off. Anyway, it wasn't one of them after me so it doesn't matter."

"What are you talking about?" the younger Harry asked, staring open mouthed at his older counterpart.

"Nothing important," Harry said dismissively. "Just idle speculation." He grimaced slightly. "Merlin Voldemort is _not_ going to be happy."

"Can you stop saying his name?" the younger Harry all but pleaded, having winced again.

"No," Harry said. "It's stupid to be afraid of a name. There's plenty of other reasons to be scared of him, but just saying his _name_ won't do anything to you, especially not in here."

The younger Harry didn't say anything to this, and for a long moment awkward silence stretched between them. Harry took advantage of this to properly examine his surroundings. His mind resembled the Gryffindor common room, which wasn't entirely unexpected. He vaguely remembered Hermione telling him at one point that your mind took the form of something important to you, and the only place more important to Harry than Hogwarts would be the Burrow.

A door led away from the common room, presumably leading to the dormitory. Harry made a mental note to see what that looked like at some point. Not now though. Now he had to deal with the rightful owner of this body.

"How will you be able to leave?" the younger Harry wanted to know, breaking the silence at last.

Harry laughed humorlessly. "Trust me, if I knew that I'd be gone already," he said. "I don't actually like this any more than you do, you know."

"It's not _your_ body," the younger Harry muttered.

"And _you're_ not the one who left your friends to fight an unwinnable war without you," Harry returned. "Out of the two of us I'd say I have the worse end of the stick."

"At least you _have_ friends!" the younger Harry burst out, and immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking down at the floor.

"Hermione said she was your friend," Harry said, frowning.

"She is," the younger Harry said. Then he shook his head. "No she's not. I'm her test subject and she has to be nice to me or I might stop helping her."

"Test subject? You mean this isn't the first spell she's tried without proper research?"

The younger Harry shrugged. "I don't know about research. But she's been testing spells on me for years."

Harry grimaced, resolving to have a nice long talk with this Hermione about ethics. His own Hermione's were sometimes a bit lax, but at least she had the excuse of a war. This Hermione had no such excuse on her side.

"It's not too bad," the younger Harry said hurriedly. "I mean she doesn't try anything illegal, and I don't really mind."

"Her experimentation brought me here. Sorry, but I do mind. I mind a lot, actually."

"It's kind of my fault though. I mean, I didn't really know what I wanted.."

"Honestly I don't think it would have mattered," Harry interrupted. "That spell seems to have a mind of its own."

The younger Harry didn’t seem convinced. “It’s still my fault though,” he insisted.

Harry sighed. “It doesn’t actually matter whose fault it was,” he said. “I’m here and we don’t know how to change that.”

The younger Harry didn’t answer and silence stretched between them. Harry crossed his legs and leaned back a little, taking stock of the situation. The younger Harry seemed finally to be willing to accept what had happened, which meant they could move on to the more practical aspects. “We’ll have to share the body somehow, for as long as I’m here,” he said at last.

The younger Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well it’s your body, isn’t it? You’re entitled to it. But I really don’t want to be stuck in here all the time, so some kind of schedule or compromise would be helpful.”

“How do we, er, get out?” the younger Harry asked. He still wasn’t looking Harry in the eye.

“Through the door, same as always,” Harry said, nodding towards the portrait hole.

“Oh.” The younger Harry didn’t move. “You can have the body.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying that because you actually don’t want it or because you think I’ll be angry if you say anything else?” Time passed oddly in the mind, but Harry had had more than enough interaction with his younger self to understand that he had as much of a spine as did a flobberworm. No wonder Hermione kept getting away with practicing spells on him.

The younger Harry didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself, and Harry sighed. “Look. Let’s get this out of the way. First of all, I can’t actually physically or magically hurt you in here. You have no body to hurt, and magic is channeled through the body not the mind. So you don’t need to be scared of me.”

Still the younger Harry said nothing. Harry took that as invitation to continue. “Furthermore, it _is_ your body and I barged in without asking so you may as well take some ownership of it.” This too produced no reply and Harry scowled. “Right, well. Starting now I’m going to assume that you saying nothing means that you’re completely okay with me taking over your life and embarrassing you in front of everyone and potentially hexing Malfoy until I get arrested for it.”

The younger Harry’s eyes widened in horror and he finally made eye contact. “Please don’t!” he all but begged.

“So you can still talk,” Harry said. “I was wondering. So how do you want this to work?”

The younger Harry shrugged. “Like I said, you can have it.”

“Fine,” Harry said. He doubted that the younger Harry was doing more than backing down before there was even the hint of an argument, but frankly he didn’t care.

“Er, you won’t really get me arrested, will you?” The younger Harry was back to not looking at Harry, but at this point any kind of communication was good.

“Probably not,” Harry said. “Malfoy’s not worth it. His father, on the other hand…”

This did not seem to reassure the younger Harry any.

Harry glanced at his watch out of habit, then grimaced. Of course it wouldn’t work. Time didn’t flow normally in a mindscape. Still, he’d definitely been in there for quite a while. “Right,” he said. “We can deal with this more in the morning. For now I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Er, what about me?” the younger Harry asked.

Harry shrugged. “The dormitory should be through the door like normal,” he said. “Either you’ll be able to sleep in there or you won’t need to.”

“Oh.”

Harry rose. “Was there anything else?”

The younger Harry shook his head mutely.

“Right. Lovely to meet you. Surreal as hell, but lovely. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that Harry strode over to the portrait hole and pushed it open. He stepped through the hole and out of the mindscape, blinking rapidly as he returned to the physical body. Probably best to get out of the habit of calling it _his_ body, since he really was only borrowing it.

He stretched, working the stiffness out of his… the body’s limbs. Making sure the wand was tucked under his pillow – just in case – he slid under the covers and closed his eyes. He’d developed a soldier’s ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time, and within a few minutes he’d drifted off into what might almost be called peaceful slumber. 

* * *

When Harry sat down at breakfast the next morning he looked almost normal. If Hermione hadn't known better she would have thought that nothing was different, apart from his being down earlier than usual. Unfortunately she _did_ know better, and so she could see the way his eyes darted around the room and his hand stayed close to his wand at all times. She forced herself not to think about it too much and busied herself buttering her toast. He sat down next to her and she nodded a greeting but didn't otherwise acknowledge him. If that surprised him she didn't know, since she was busily _not_ looking over at him, but he didn't say anything if it did. Instead he poured himself some tea and drank a large gulp, apparently not caring that it was still scalding hot. He drank the rest of the cup equally quickly and refilled it almost immediately. His plate remained bare.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Hermione asked despite herself. Harry ate as much as he could, _always_. How he could do that and stay so very skinny she didn't know.

"No."

"You always eat breakfast," she prompted. If he acted too differently it wouldn't matter whether or not he actually told anyone; they would figure it out on their own. She couldn't bear for that to happen, and swore to herself that she would figure out how to get herself out of this mess as quickly as possible. The Harry she knew was mostly useless, but at least his presence wouldn't get her expelled.

"Not hungry," Harry said with a shrug, taking another drink of tea. "Stop looking at me like that Hermione. The world won't end if I skip breakfast one day. "

"But..."

"Hermione, you're attracting attention," Harry said dryly. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. I will not keel over from hunger between now and lunchtime, I promise." He took another large swallow of tea before reaching into his book bag and pulling out his time table. He set this on his plate and examined it, seeming completely absorbed.

"Oy Potter, haven't you memorized your time table yet?" Ron called from a little ways away, snickering as though he'd made a particularly amusing joke. Harry didn't even look up, only reached out for his cup of tea again.

"Oy, I'm talking to you!" Ron tossed crumpled napkin at Harry, who reached up to catch it without looking.

"I thought the answer was obvious," he said, still not turning towards Ron. "And kindly don't throw things at me." He finally did look up when it became apparent that everyone within earshot was staring at him. He didn't seem uncomfortable with the attention, reminding Hermione even more that this was not at all the Harry she used to know. "Can I help you with something?" he asked. "Or is watching someone look at their time table really that interesting?"

"How did you do that?" Ron demanded.

"Do what?"

"You caught it!" Ron exclaimed. "How did you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess I got lucky." He put his time table back into his book bag and drank the last of his tea.

Ron was staring at Harry as though he'd never seen him before and Hermione winced. Her suspicions had been right. He would attract attention and give her away and her entire life would be ruined. And he didn't even seem to care! He wasn't even looking at her, for all that she was staring at him with increasing amounts of desperation.

Harry rose. "Right then. If you have nothing else to say then I'll be off. Wouldn't want to be late to divinations, after all." He rolled his eyes slightly and started away from the Gryffindor table. Without even thinking about it, Hermione followed.

"Harry, wait!" she called.

He paused, glancing back at her. "What?"

"I need to talk to you. Privately."

He shrugged and started walking again. "Come on then." She trailed after him, hoping she didn't look as terrified and worried and angry as she felt. Once they got into the main corridor Harry stopped again. "What is it?"

"You're going to give us away!" Hermione burst out, only barely remembering to keep her voice down. "You're not acting anything like our Harry and you're making people suspicious!"

Harry grimaced. "I don't like bullies," he said. "And if someone tries it on me I'll retaliate. I'm perfectly capable of sitting in the back of the room and not talking to people, but I am _not_ going to tolerate people trying to bully me. Sorry."

"But you'll attract attention!" Hermione insisted. "And Ron wasn't being mean. That's just how he is. You know that!"

"The Ron I know has been my best friend since I was eleven," Harry said flatly. "That's not at all how he is. And all this one has to do is leave me alone and I'll do the same to him. You should be happy that I'm willing to pretend at all, honestly. I don't _have_ to save your neck like this, you know."

"But you promised!" Hermione said.

"I did no such thing," Harry countered. "I said I'd play along until I figured out what to do. I did _not_ say that I would act like your Harry down to the tiniest thing. Frankly, I don't think I'm capable of that, and even if I was I'm not going to. I hate bullies and I've had more than enough of being bullied."

"I think you're being incredibly selfish about this," Hermione told him, struggling to keep her voice down.

"Me?" Harry demanded. " _I'm_ not the one asking someone to pretend to be someone they don't even know just to save me from facing the consequences of my actions. Frankly I think I've been more than understanding. And I really _don't_ want to be late, so if you'll excuse me." With that he turned and strode away, robes billowing out behind him rather impressively. His posture was ramrod straight and he held his head high. He couldn't have looked less like the Harry Hermione knew if he'd had hair as bright as Ron's. She watched him go, feeling numb. With an effort she shook herself back to normal. It really hadn't been her fault. She'd just cast the spell, not wished for him to come. That was the original Harry's doing, and frankly this Harry would be better off blaming him instead.

She took a deep breath and made her way back into the Great Hall. Ignoring the questioning looks she got, she gathered her things and started towards Arithmancy. Hopefully spending an hour working out the exact calculations that could predict a person's eventual fate would clear her mind. At the very least it would require all her attention, and at the moment that could only be a good thing. 

* * *

 

Harry ended up being early for Divinations, but he couldn't bring himself to mind much. His last memory of Professor Trelawney was her getting mowed down by an unknown Death Eater while she tried to protect a group of fourth years during the Battle of Hogwarts. Seeing her alive again almost excused the unbearable heaviness of the air in her tower and the way one veritably _sank_ into the poufs scattered around the room. Almost. After a few minutes Harry was having to work hard to remind himself that he _was_ pleased to see her alive again and _didn't_ mind sitting through her class yet again.

Other students trickled in, none of them giving Harry so much as a second glance. He frowned at that, not used to being so thoroughly ignored. He hadn't been so systematically overlooked since before starting Hogwarts, and he realized with some irritation that he missed the attention. _Stop it_ , he ordered himself firmly, doing his best to sit up straighter on the pouf. He _hated_ being the center of attention. Surely not being so now should come as a relief, not an irritation. _Eye contact would be nice_ , a part of him muttered darkly, but he shushed it. This Harry had no friends. This Harry was nothing special. Of _course_ no one would pay attention to this Harry. It was something to be relished, not annoyed at. He repeated the words in his head like some kind of mantra, waiting for the lesson to start.

Professor Trelawney drifted in just before the start of the hour and slowly the class focused on her and side conversations slowed to a stop. Rather dramatically, Professor Trelawney informed them all that they would be starting off the year "gazing into the crystal orb," which Harry assumed meant learning to use a crystal ball. He grinned slightly, remembering Ron's unfortunate O.W.L. experience with one.

She ordered the class to pair up, and Harry sighed. He very much doubted that this would go well. Sure enough he was the last person to find a partner, and when he finally did flag down someone willing to acknowledge him he found himself sitting across from Millicent Bulstrode. She glared at him, clearly just as unhappy with the situation as Harry himself. He only sighed and offered her first go at the crystal ball. Might as well get this over with.

The exercise went just as badly as expected. Millicent made no bones about the fact that she despised him, while Harry spent most of the hour wishing he were doing this with Ron instead. At least then they could have made fun of it. Instead he got to spend the hour being glared at, grunted at, and occasionally actually spoken to. He wondered if he was meant to feel honored when she deigned to give him a full sentence describing what she “saw.” Harry himself made it up, just as he always did. He might be relieved to see Trelawney alive and teaching again (though the more she melodramatically proclaimed that darkness was advancing and clouding her sight the harder he had to work at being relieved) but that didn’t mean he was actually going to try in her class.

Finally Trelawney let them pack up. Harry shoved his things into his bookbag and shot to his feet, all but bolting out of the room. Once down the ladder and around the corner he took a deep breath, reveling in the incense-free air. He _really_ hoped they found a way to get him home soon. The thought of having to do that twice a week for the rest of the year was incredibly unappealing.

He arrived early for Defense, choosing a seat at the back and hoping no one sat next to him. He was already extremely tired of being back in school, and not even the prospect of Defense Against the Dark Arts was enough to make him feel better. Harry had _taught_ Defense. He didn't need to be in a class for it. Not to mention the way the other students treated him here. Apparently this Harry had never learned to stand up for himself, nor had friends to do it for him. He was completely fed up with this dimension already and it hadn't even been 24 hours. Harry swore to himself that he would find out how to get home as soon as humanly possible.

Slowly the other students trickled in. No one claimed the empty seat next to Harry, thankfully, and by the time the clock reached the hour every other seat was filled. There was still no sign of Moody and Harry tensed, hand going automatically to his wand. He had no idea if this Moody was actually a Death Eater or no, but either way he would certainly attempt to scare the living daylights out of his class. Harry considered feigning fright along with the others, if only to appease Hermione, but Moody chose that moment to slam open the doors and stalk in, wooden leg thumping loudly on the stone floor. He certainly looked a frightening sight, with his scared face and electric blue magical eye, and a quick glance around the classroom showed that he'd succeeded in startling every single one of Harry's classmates.

Harry himself found that he'd unconsciously drawn his wand and aimed it at Moody, keeping it shadowed to make it less obvious. Not that the shadows hindered Moody's magical eye, which fixed Harry with an appraising look. He stalked to the podium in front of the classroom. A flick of his wand closed the door with a bang, making the students jump again. "CONSTANT VIGILENCE!" Moody roared, frightening the assembled fifth years yet _again_. "You're growing up, all of you. Do you think the world will let you be children anymore? Well?" He glared around the room, grimacing. The expression was distorted by his numerous scars and Harry suspected at least one person's boggart would never be the same again.

"Who can tell me about the Unforgivable curses?" Moody demanded. His natural eye scanned the classroom, but his magical eye stayed fixed on Harry. The nineteen-year-old had yet to sheath his wand, and he knew Moody had noticed. The old auror probably approved, though Harry hoped he wouldn't turn it into a teachable moment. The last thing Harry wanted was more attention. Hermione would probably have a heart attack if he drew attention twice in one day, after all. He might not appreciate what she'd done, but it was still _Hermione_. Keeping her happy was practically second nature to Harry.

Speaking of Hermione, she was one of the few who'd raised her hand in response to Moody's question. His natural eye stopped on her and he nodded. "You. Granger."

"The unforgivable curses are the darkest possible curses," Hermione said, voice trembling slightly. "Using any of them warrants a lifetime sentence to Azkaban."

Moody sneered. "Very academic but completely useless," he barked. "I want to know what they _are_." He resumed his examination of the classroom, but the few hands that had accompanied Hermione's had vanished when Moody dismissed her answer. "Potter," Moody called, and Harry couldn't quite hold a grimace.

"Sir?" he asked, wondering if it was worth playing dumb.

"How many can you name?"

Harry opened his mouth to lie but stopped. If he lied now then that would be committing himself to impersonating this dimension's Harry. He very much doubted he would be _capable_ of doing that, much less willing. So instead of his planned lie, he met Moody's eyes straight on and said, "All of them."

Moody made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat, silencing the rest of the class with a glare. "Share with the class, Potter."

Harry sighed slightly, but answered anyway. "The imperius curse, the cruciatus curse, and the killing curse." He hesitated, then added, "Sir." Even if he wasn't going to play the part of an incompetent, making it clear that he considered Moody an equal would be unwise. He'd attracted attention already, but he didn't need Moody getting _too_ suspicious.

"Two points to Gryffindor," Moody said. "The person who can tell me what they all do gets two more." Once again his natural eye scanned the class while his magical one stayed fixed on Harry. It didn't need to blink, and Harry found himself sincerely wishing Moody would look away. He was used to the scrutiny, but it was eerie, especially here. He didn't like the feeling of being _assessed_.

Hermione's hand went up again and Moody nodded at her. "Granger."

"Er, the Imperius curse bends someone to your will," she said.

"And the others? Don't bother with hand raising, just talk."

There was silence for a moment. Then, "The cruciatus curse causes pain." The words came from Susan Bones, sitting by the window on the far side of the classroom. Harry reminded himself that this Susan had yet to lose close relatives to that particular curse.

"And the last one?" Moody's voice cut through the quiet. He grimaced when no one moved to answer. Harry appreciated his annoyance. The answer had already been spoken, and recently at that. "Potter," Moody called after another minute or so of silence.

"The killing curse kills," Harry said simply, voice even.

"You hear that?" Moody demanded, glaring at the rest of the class. His magical eye _finally_ looked away, and Harry sagged with relief. "Magic isn't all childhood games and harmless pranks like we've covered so far. Magic will kill you, and the wizards who do it won't care how old you are. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Again, everyone jumped, and Harry did roll his eyes this time. Honestly, Moody was fairly predictable in his intimidation routines. They'd had him as a teacher for over a _month_. Surely at least a _few_ of them had come to expect his dramatic entrances and random bellows. Apparently not, and Harry reminded himself that the war hadn't started yet. Despite what Moody said, they were all still children, even Neville. One encounter with Voldemort did not a soldier make, as Harry knew all too well.

Moody seemed to share Harry's assessment of the class because his grimace deepened. "I've only got a year with you lot, and we've already wasted time easing you in. From here on out the games are over. Longbottom. Give me three spells you've learned that someone could use to kill you."

Neville stared up at Moody. Harry couldn't see his face, but he would bet that the Boy-Who-Lived was frowning. "Er, I don't know any," he said, sounding confused. "Why would our teachers teach us spells that can kill?"

"Wrong!" Moody barked. "Who wants to help Longbottom out?"

Hesitantly Sally Anne Perks raised her hand. "Er, you could banish a rock at someone and hit them in the head?" she suggested.

"Clumsy but potentially effective," Moody agreed. "Two points to Hufflepuff. Anyone else?"

Slowly some of the other students joined in. Their suggestions were pretty tame, all things considered, but then they hadn't spent the last several years having to do exactly what Moody was suggesting. Even first years could get remarkably creative, when they had to.

Moody didn't call on Harry again, for which he was grateful. The former auror's magical eye kept drifting back to Harry, but it never fixed its attention on him like it had at the beginning of class, so Harry took that as a victory. By the end of the hour the discussion had turned to using basic spells for defense against higher level curses, and Moody dismissed them with instructions to make a list of the five most useful spells they knew and all the ways they could be used in combat. Harry wholeheartedly approved. Maybe this world would be readier for the inevitable war than his own had been. Then again, judging from the way his classmates grumbled about the assignment, maybe not. 

* * *

 

Neville sat down next to Harry at lunch, causing the skinnier Gryffindor to look curiously up at him. "Hello Neville," he said.

"That was some show in Defense today," he said, trying not to sound too patronizing. "How'd you know all that?"

Harry shrugged, helping himself to a generous serving of mashed potatoes. Neville waited for him to elaborate, but he only took a swig of water. He wasn't even looking at Neville, not after confirming his identity. Neville frowned. "I asked you a question," he reminded Harry, annoyed.

Harry shrugged again. "I looked it up," he said. "It's in the library."

"Since when do you spend time in the library?" Ron demanded. He'd sat down opposite from Neville and Harry and was also frowning at the usually quiet Harry.

"It's been known to happen," Harry said. He took a bite of mashed potatoes. "Pass me the ham please." This was spoken to Parvati Patil, sitting a little ways away. She seemed surprised that Harry was speaking to her, but obligingly passed the requested dish. Harry helped himself to some of that too, apparently not at all bothered by the way Neville and Ron continued to look at him.

"Not even Hermione knew the answers to those questions," Ron pressed as Harry began to cut his ham.

"She probably did," Harry corrected. "I mean it's common knowledge, if you know where to look."

"And where _do_ you look?" Neville wanted to know, irked by how Harry seemed completely unfazed by the whole exchange. Harry should be grateful that they were gracing him with their presence! Neville Longbottom and his best friend were not to be ignored, especially not by someone like Harry who could use all the friends he could get. Not that Neville was really interested in being _friends_ with Harry, but still! He should be grateful that they were paying him attention at all! Instead he just seemed annoyed.

"You could start by looking in the History of Magic textbook," he said. "It quite clearly describes the methods used by past Dark Lords. They don't change much, you know." He took another drink from his goblet and set to work on his ham.

Ron scoffed. "No one reads that bloody thing," he said. "Who cares?"

"You might, when you fail your O.W.L.s," Harry said.

"Like the History of Magic O.W.L. even matters," Ron said. "Honestly, you've been spending too much time with Hermione."

An odd look crossed Harry's face, but he didn't otherwise respond. Neville scowled. "Look at us when we're talking to you!" he snapped.

Harry did look up then, but only to raise his eyebrows in Neville's direction. "I don't have to see you to listen," he said. "Did you have something you actually wanted to say or are you going to keep asking ridiculous questions?"

"Be happy we're sitting with you at all," Ron said. "We don't _have_ to, you know."

Harry shrugged, not seeming at all concerned. "You're the ones who chose to sit here," he said. “You’re quite welcome to go find somewhere else to sit if my company is annoying you.” He raised an eyebrow as he spoke, sounding… bitter? It couldn’t be bitter. Why on Earth would Harry Potter, of all people, sound _bitter_ about people sitting with him?

“Maybe we will,” Neville said, voice a bit more withering than he’d intended. “We can see when we’re not wanted.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly but didn’t otherwise respond. Neville rose. If Harry was going to be that way then Neville certainly wasn’t going to waste his time here. Ron too rose, glaring at Harry, who didn’t seem to notice. He was staring fixedly at his plate, and Neville couldn’t help noticing that he’d barely eaten anything. Well, Harry’s nutrition wasn’t Neville’s problem. Nothing about Harry was Neville’s problem. No wonder he had no friends, not if this was how he treated people trying to be nice to him. Neville and Ron moved back to their usual place in the center of the table. The people already there obligingly made room and out of the corner of his eye Neville saw Hermione scoot over to say something to Harry. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed to be some kind of argument. Certainly after a few moments Harry rose and all but stormed off.

Ron poked him and Neville hurriedly turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. What Harry did was his own business, and if he was going to be a prat to his housemates that was his own problem. 

* * *

 

Harry roamed the corridors for the rest of the lunch period, doing his best to work off his anger. Over and over he reminded himself that these were not _his_ Ron and Neville. They didn’t know him, didn’t have any reason to care about him. They knew this dimension’s Harry, and obviously didn’t like him all that much. Even if the younger Harry hadn’t outright admitted to having no friends, Harry would have figured it out fairly quickly. People with friends generally didn’t spend every class period sitting alone.

The lunch period passed far too quickly and Harry’s anger hadn’t abated at all when he arrived in front of the Charms classroom. He took a deep breath, trying to at least _look_ as though he were in control of his emotions. With any luck the others would keep ignoring him. He was in no state to deal with people who looked like his friends and acted nothing like them.

Harry planted himself firmly in the back of the classroom and spread out his things to take up the entire desk. It proved to be an idle precaution. No one even glanced in his direction, not even Hermione, whose reprimand at lunch had only served to add fuel to the fire of Harry’s anger. He was coming perilously close to hating the Hermione of this world.

Flitwick started class shortly after the hour and after a short lecture set them to practicing the color change charm. Harry looked down at the feather he’d been given and sighed. Apparently having two interesting classes in one day would be more good luck than the universe saw fit to grant him. He drew his wand, taking a moment to get used to its grip, and cast the spell.

Nothing happened.

Harry frowned. Glancing around the room, he saw that a few other people were having trouble with the charm, including Neville, whose control over his magic here seemed to be even worse than Harry remembered his Neville's being. Not that it mattered. Just because other people were having trouble with the charm didn't mean _Harry_ should be having trouble. Even accounting for the fact that this body's magical core wasn't as fully developed as the one Harry was used to, it shouldn't be this difficult. He cast the spell again, making sure to enunciate properly. Still nothing. It almost felt as though he didn't have enough power to make the spell work, but that was ridiculous. Even if this Harry wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, he should have more than enough magic to power anything the O.W.L. curriculum threw at him. James and Lily had both been powerful, after all.

He glared down at the feather he was meant to be turning green and jabbed his wand at it more viciously than necessary. The feather twitched but didn't otherwise move, and Harry scowled, more certain than ever that something was very wrong. Why hadn't the other Harry told him about this? Why hadn't _Hermione_ told him about this? Surely this Harry's weird magic wasn't new.

Deciding to try another tactic, Harry performed the swish and flick motion he'd memorized years ago and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa." He felt stupid saying such a simple spell out loud, but he doubted this body's magic would respond to silent commands. The feather twitched again, and one end lifted slightly from the table before falling back down. Harry was reminded of his first year. His feather had done that several times before he'd figured out how to actually levitate the whole thing. According to Hermione that had been a combination of an undeveloped magical core and sloppy spellwork. This time, Harry knew for a fact that his spellwork was anything but sloppy. He'd never be as precise as Hermione, but he was no slouch. Which could only confirm his feelings about this Harry's magical core.

"How the hell did he get into Hogwarts?" Harry muttered to himself, frowning. Even his Neville had had a better developed core than this when he was a _first_ year. Though maybe Neville wasn't a good example, since his problems came down to lack of confidence. That might have explained some of this world's Harry's issues as well, but Harry himself very much did _not_ suffer from a lack of confidence. Indeed, if people like Snape were to be believed, his problems stemmed from precisely the opposite.

He shook his head. Thinking of his world's Snape and Neville only made him miss them more, and missing people was a fairly useless exercise. At least they weren't _dead_. He ignored the voice in his head that added "yet" and went back to trying to solve his problem.

Deciding to go even simpler, he grasped his wand firmly and, in a whisper as commanding as possible, said, "Lapsus." He forced what little power he could grasp through his wand and _glared_ at the feather until it obligingly scooted a few inches to the left. He let up on the spell, breath coming a little more quickly than before. He could definitely feel the effort involved in forcing magic through his wand, and he grimaced. There was absolutely no reason why the first charm any Hogwarts student learned should take anything out of him at fifteen. Still, it _had_ worked. He had definitely felt some magic. This Harry wasn't a squib, at least.

When his heartbeat slowed back to normal, a process which only took about thirty seconds, he took a deep breath. Once more he swished and flicked his wand and ordered his feather to rise. Once more it did nothing but twitch, though more of it rose into the air this time. Harry glared at the feather. "I will _not_ be in the body of a squib," he muttered darkly, swishing and flicking his wand again in an exaggeratedly precise motion. "Wingardium Leviosa, _dammit_!" He practically _shoved_ all the magic he could get his mental hands on through his wand towards the feather. It twitched, then rose, hovering unsteadily a fraction of an inch above the desk. Harry forced his magic to keep going, using his growing anger to fuel his concentration. A moment later he felt something burst inside of him and the feather exploded.

The entire class turned to stare at Harry, who glared back at them. Flitwick hurried over, looking both concerned and oddly hopeful. "Is everything all right Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"No," Harry said darkly. "I think I need another feather."

Someone giggled at that. Harry thought it was Lavender Brown, but he didn't bother checking. He was still too angry at both the other Harry and the entire situation. Of all the bodies to get stuck in, he just had to find one whose magic was essentially unusable. Fate really _did_ hate him.

"Of course, of course." Flitwick silently conjured a new feather, making Harry scowl. He should have been able to that. Back home, he _could_ do that with just as little effort as Flitwick. It was this stupid body that couldn't. He blinked, realizing that Flitwick was still standing over him.

"Sir?" he managed, hoping he sounded passably polite.

"I asked whether you knew what happened to the old one," Flitwick repeated, still looking oddly excited.

Harry shrugged. "It blew up," he said.

"I don't suppose you know how that happened?"

"Not really," Harry said honestly. "I'll try not to do it again."

"On the contrary," Flitwick said. "It would be most instructive if you could repeat the feat."

Harry glanced over at him, frowning. "Er, okay then," he said. "I didn't do it on purpose, you know."

"I never thought you had," Flitwick assured him. He didn't move away from Harry's desk, and Harry sighed. Apparently he was going to stay there until Harry proved that he had no idea what he was doing.

Harry sighed and turned to the new feather. The burst of something that had caused the earlier explosion seemed to have vanished, and when Harry reached for his magic he found no more than he had before. Something had happened, though. He wanted to slip into his mindscape to check, but with Flitwick still there he couldn't risk it. Instead he focused on the feather and, for the sake of the Professor standing next to him, spoke the incantation for the color change charm. As he'd expected, nothing happened. His magic responded to the command, but he simply couldn't grasp enough of it to make any difference.

Flitwick seemed disappointed, but he walked away anyway, much to Harry's relief. He looked back down at his feather, wondering if it would be worth trying Wingardium Leviosa again. He wanted to try to recreate that burst of magic, but if explosions were the result he didn't want to risk it in class again. So instead he spent the rest of the hour pretending to practice, silently plotting how to escape to the Room of Requirement to test this body's magic more thoroughly.

Naturally, class seemed to take forever, and it seemed to Harry like an eternity had passed before the hour ended at last. He practically ran out of the classroom, ignoring both Professor Flitwick and Hermione. He could afford to skip dinner, he decided. If he got too hungry he could always pop down to the kitchens and grab something there. The House Elves were sure to have _something_.

 


	3. Anything but a simple life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains bullying and fantastic racism. Also accidental drug use.

Harry stood in the Room of Requirement looking at what used to be a practice dummy and was now a pile of charred wood and fabric. After an hour of experimenting he had a decent sense of what this body’s magic could and couldn’t do. Unfortunately, nearly everything Harry could think of seemed to fall into the category of “things the body’s magic couldn’t do” and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so frustrated. A Dark Lord at least could be fought; Harry didn’t even have the slightest idea how to start dealing with this.

His stomach rumbled and he turned away from the charred remains, which were the result of his giving into his frustration and once more resorting to shoving all the magic he could through his wand. Apparently when the body’s magic did deign to work it made things blow up. If Harry hadn’t known better he would have thought himself in the body of Seamus Finnegan.

Shaking his head he pushed away thoughts of his now dead friend and focused on the more immediate problem. He needed to eat – he’d barely had any food today and this body clearly wasn’t used to going on days on end with only scant rations – but he really didn’t want to go down to the Great Hall for dinner. Hopefully the House Elves here would be as amenable to feeding students as the ones back home had been. It would be just his luck if this Harry had managed to alienate them somehow. He didn’t seem like the type to start S.P.E.W., but then again Harry barely knew his alternate self. He could have veritable hidden oceans of misplaced compassion for all Harry knew.

Still, there was no point worrying about something when he could just as easily find out the answer, so he sheathed his wand – this Harry’s wand – and made his way out of the Room of Requirement. He didn’t pass anyone on his way down to the first floor, for which he was grateful. He probably _could_ deal with people he kept forgetting he didn’t know without incident – despite what Snape might think Harry did have at least a tiny bit of self control – but that didn’t mean he wanted to.

He arrived in front of the fruit bowl and tickled the pear, fighting down a wave of nostalgia. The portrait swung open and Harry stepped into the kitchen. Immediately all attention was on him and an elf rushed up to him.

“Students is not permitted in the kitchens,” she said firmly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. Apparently they weren’t quite the same after all. “Er, would it be possible for me to grab something to eat to take with me?” he asked. “I won’t bother you for long.”

“Is there something wrong with the meal?” the elf asked, sounding concerned. Around him the other elves were all listening intently.

“No, of course not!” Harry hastened to reassure them. “The food is wonderful, as always. I just don’t really want to eat with other people tonight, that’s all.”

“Students is to eat with the others,” the elf said. Harry thought she might be slightly apologetic about it, but he couldn’t tell.

“Is there any way you could make an exception?” he tried. “Otherwise I probably won’t eat anything at all and I didn’t get to have breakfast this morning and had my lunch cut short.”

As predicted, the elf’s eyes widened almost comically wide at his words and she wrung her tea towel in her tiny hands. Harry felt slightly guilty causing her so much distress and silently promised not to do this too often.

“I is sorry,” the elf said at last. “The rules is not to be broken.”

Harry sighed. “I understand,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

“You is not needing to say thank you!” the elf squeaked, eyes widening again. “Cady wishes she could help more.”

“You did what you could,” Harry said. “Rules are rules, and all that.”

The elf, Cady apparently, nodded, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Professor Headmaster said they is not to be bent for anyone,” she said.

“Right then,” Harry said, wondering if the Room of Requirement could create food. “Sorry to bother you. I know you must be busy.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Cady’s voice came out even higher pitched than before and when Harry turned back she was staring intently at him. “Students is to eat with the others, but they doesn’t have to do it at the same time.”

Harry blinked. “What?” he asked.

She wrung her tea towel in her hands again, looking nervous. “The rules say that students is to eat all in the same place. They is saying nothing about eating all at the same time.”

He frowned, working that through his mind as though Luna had said it not a house elf. “So, you’re saying that if I’m in the Great Hall after everyone else has left I could still get food?” he asked.

“Cady is only saying the rules,” she said, even as she nodded.

For the first time in quite a while, Harry found himself grinning. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s always important to know the rules.” He hesitated, then added, “Er, and I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you Cady.”

Cady’s eyes had widened once more and she stared at him, apparently unable to even formulate a response. The other elves were starting to cluster around them, some of them looking disapproving, and Harry decided that it would be a good time to leave. He nodded a goodbye to the other House Elves and backed out of the kitchen, letting the still life swing shut behind him.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that he still had half an hour until dinner officially finished and probably at least forty five minutes until the Great Hall cleared out. He made his way up to Gryffindor tower and sat on his bed, pulling shut the drapes. He and his younger self needed to have a long talk, and now was as good a time as any.

* * *

 

Fifteen-year-old Harry looked up as his alternate self stepped into their shared mindscape. He was frowning and Harry set his book down, bracing for an outburst, or at least some kind of accusation.

Sure enough, "What's wrong with your magic?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully. He would have thought the problems with his magic were obvious.

"It doesn't work properly," alternate Harry said.

Harry shrugged. "My magic has never been any good," he said. "Apparently most people though I wouldn't get into Hogwarts at all."

Alternate Harry grimaced. "Useless," he muttered. "Where's Hermione when you need her?"

"Have you tried the library?"

"No, not her," alternate Harry said, waving away Harry's words. "My Hermione." He started pacing, fists clenched in frustration. "It doesn't make sense though. There’s absolutely no reason your magic should be this underdeveloped.”

"Maybe I wasn't stimulated enough as a child?" Harry suggested hesitantly.

"You can't have been any less stimulated than I was," alternate Harry said. "And if there's anything my relatives managed to teach me it's that you can't squash the magic out of someone. No, this is something else." He scowled, pulling out his wand and glaring at it as though it would provide the answers. It didn't seem to hold any secrets for him, and after a moment he stuffed it back into his pocket and resumed his pacing. "Something must have happened to keep yours from coming through properly."

"Er, maybe I just don't have much?" Harry suggested.

"Why wouldn't you?" alternate Harry demanded. "We have the same parents, don't we? If magic is genetic, then there's no reason for you to have less magic than I did, not if your parents were talented, which they were."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe I'm just hopeless then," he said.

"Yes, but _I'm_ not," alternate Harry retorted. "And if I'm in control then your hopelessness shouldn't matter."

"Oh." Harry shrugged again. "What do you want to do about it then?"

"I don't know," alternate Harry said. "Like I said, I really wish Hermione was here. She'd know how to start, at the very least."

"You could talk to my Hermione," Harry suggested, knowing even as the words left his mouth that alternate Harry would refuse.

Sure enough, he shook his head. "I'd probably break her," he said. "Or endure another half hour argument to prove that I'm not actually lying. Not really looking forward to either."

"I don't think you're being fair to her," Harry objected. "I'm sure she'd love to help."

Alternate Harry snorted, making it quite clear what he thought of Hermione's help. "Someone with academic training would be more useful, I think."

"Your Hermione has academic training?" Harry wanted to know.

"No," alternate Harry said. "But she’s read pretty much everything there is to read about magic in the Hogwarts and Black family libraries and she’d be in school still if we weren’t all at war."

Harry winced. He kept forgetting that alternate Harry didn't just come from a slightly different version of Harry's own world but a completely different dimension that would be totally unfamiliar if he himself went there.

"Snape," alternate Harry said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "He'd know."

"What?" Harry's head shot up and he stared at his alternate self. He _had_ to be joking.

"He's had the training," alternate Harry said, apparently not joking at all. "And he probably knows more about magic than anyone but Dumbledore or Voldemort." Harry winced involuntarily at You-Know-Who's name, but for once alternate Harry didn't comment on it.

"You'd have to convince him to help though," Harry objected. "And he _hates_ me."

"Us," alternate Harry corrected. "Trust me, mine hates me just as much as yours does you. More, probably, since mine thinks I'm just like my dad and yours would have to be completely mad to think that about you."

"No, he mostly thinks I'm worthless," Harry admitted.

"That we can work with," alternate Harry said, mostly to himself. He frowned. "He'd have to know the truth though. How do you feel about Snape knowing some of your secrets?"

"I'd really rather he didn't?" Harry said.

"Really don't blame you there," alternate Harry said. "I didn't much like it either."

"Why does he know your secrets?" Harry wanted to know, frowning.

"Long story," alternate Harry said dismissively. "But he was trying to teach me Occlumancy and I'm rubbish at it." He shrugged. "Finding out my secrets was something of an occupational hazard."

"Occlumancy?"

Alternate Harry nodded. "I'll explain later. Or you could find out for yourself. I'm sure it’s in the library somewhere.”

“Oh.”

Alternate Harry continued pacing, muttering to himself. Harry settled for watching him warily, trying to gauge what happened now. He’d often wished he had more magic, but after all this time he’d accepted his failure as a matter of course.

Finally alternate Harry stopped pacing and once more looked up. “We’ll talk about this more later,” he decided. “I need to go eat something, or your body’s going to faint on me.” With that he turned and headed out the portrait hole, leaving Harry once more alone in his own mind. He looked after his older self and sighed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in here, but he was beginning to feel the lack of contact with the outside world acutely. Even if he didn’t actually talk to people normally, at least he got to move around and occasionally interact. Only the fact that the older Harry fully acknowledged his own status as a foreigner who’d stolen Harry’s body kept him from starting to doubt his own sanity or even existence, and Harry supposed he should be grateful for that.

With a grimace he made once more for the stairs. An empty dormitory was far less surreal than an empty common room, and if he spent his time there Harry could almost convince himself that nothing had changed.

* * *

 

Wednesday proved, if possible, even more disastrous than the day before. Harry skipped breakfast completely, determined to teach this body to be less reliant on food if it killed him, and sat sullenly in the back of all his classes, not even bothering to try the practical aspects of Transfiguration and paying only cursory attention in Herbology. Both McGonagall and Sprout sent him disapproving looks, and McGonagall took several points from Gryffindor, but Harry didn’t care. This wasn’t his world, these weren’t his marks, and none of the people around him were his friends. It wasn’t even his Hogwarts, and the more time he spent here the more acutely he felt it.

His stomach’s persistent rumbling forced him to go to lunch despite wanting nothing less than forced interaction with his classmates. He took a seat at the very end of the Gryffindor table and spread his things out, glaring fiercely at anyone who even thought about sitting near him. Hermione was probably going mental about it, but Harry frankly couldn’t care less about what Hermione thought. This whole mess was her fault, and it would be only fair if she suffered as much as he was.

He ate only as much as absolutely required to make his stomach stop complaining then all but bolted from the Great Hall. He had a free period before his next class, and he locked himself in the Room of Requirement, working off steam by beating up a series of practice dummies helpfully provided by the room. He couldn’t use any magic, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still punch things, and by the time the hour was up he’d bloodied his knuckles and screamed himself hoarse. The remains of practice dummies lay on the floor, shredded beyond all recognition by a knife Harry had found halfway through. He didn’t know nearly enough about using it to actually defend himself in a fight, but ripping through cloth dummies had proven so therapeutic that he’d kept going. As he sat back to survey his handiwork, he could almost have been considered to be in a good mood, though the weight of leaving the room dampened it quite a bit.  He seriously considered just not going, but the desire to see Hagrid again outweighed the disinclination to interact with his classmates. This world’s Harry and the half giant probably weren’t friends, but Hagrid could at least be counted on to be polite.

He left the knife in the room, promising himself that he would learn to use it properly at some point, and made his way out to the grounds. He caught sight of Neville and Ron ahead of him, but did his best to ignore them. Malfoy and his posse too stood waiting, and Harry positioned himself as far away from both groups as he could while still being part of the class. That put him next to Parvati, who smiled slightly at him in greeting. Harry nodded back and she turned back to her conversation with Lavender. Harry tuned them out, waiting for Hagrid to show up.

He didn’t. Instead a grey-haired woman appeared precisely on the hour and began lecturing to the class about billywigs in a no-nonsense voice. Harry stared at her, not listening as his mind whirled. Where was Hagrid? Who was this woman? Was she the professor, or was Hagrid just away? He dimly remembered that back home Dumbledore had had Hagrid talk to the giant; maybe he was doing that. He should have expected something like this; the universe seemed to have made a habit of being crueler than usual to him lately. So wrapped up in thought was he that he barely noticed when she separated them into groups, and it took Parvati poking his side hard to snap him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asked, turning to glare at her.

She didn’t seem at all bothered by the glare. “I _asked_ if you wanted to work with us, but if you’re going to be like that I won’t bother.”

Harry took a deep breath. He didn’t want to, but Parvati was the only person in this dimension so far who’d been even slightly nice to him, and he never had gotten to know her as well as he should have back home. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You startled me. I’ll work with you if you want.”

Parvati nodded. Harry followed her to where Lavender was already standing. A tall box stood in front of her, presumably containing a billywig, and Harry struggled to remember what they were actually supposed to be doing. Lavender looked at him suspiciously but didn’t comment on his presence.

“Lav, why don’t you get started preparing the food,” Parvati suggested. “Harry, you help her, and I’ll subdue it so that it doesn’t escape when we open the cage.”

“Sure,” Harry said. Lavender didn’t look thrilled at this, and before she could object he added, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Weren’t you paying attention to Professor Grubbly-Plank?” Lavender demanded. “She explained it to us.”

“Not really,” Harry admitted.

She scowled. “If you can’t be bothered to pay attention then I’m certainly not going to help you.” She turned and headed away from the box towards a large bin, presumably containing whatever it was that billywigs ate. To be honest, Harry wasn’t sure he even knew what billywigs _were_. They sounded more like one of Luna’s creatures than anything else, and for a brief moment he wondered if he should be expecting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks to show up on the curriculum later.

Voices a little ways away caught his attention, and when Harry turned to look he saw Malfoy and Neville glaring at each other. It was a familiar scene, especially when Crabbe and Goyle moved up to flank Malfoy and crack their knuckles menacingly. Ron stood next to Neville, fists clenched, and the only thing missing was Hermione trying to talk them all out of fighting. From the back, it could have been any of the countless times Harry and his friends had faced off against Malfoy, and Harry’s throat tightened uncomfortably. With an effort, he looked away.

Lavender was on her way back from the food bin, and Parvati was concentrating in front of the cage. Harry supposed he should help them, but he honestly had no idea what to do. They seemed to be managing just fine on their own, and he knew that Lavender, at least, would rather he just leave them be. He was considering just making himself scarce when Parvati let out a startled yelp.

Harry’s wand was in his hand before he could stop himself and he was halfway through the incantation for a generalized shield spell before his mind caught up with his body and he remembered where he was. Parvati and Lavender were too busy with whatever had startled them in the first place to pay any attention to Harry’s reaction. “Don’t let it get away!” Parvati squealed. Lavender shrieked with surprised and batted something away from her face.

“Get it away from me!” she exclaimed, still flailing in an effort to drive whatever it was away. Harry couldn’t tell what they were shrieking about it, though the open door of the cage suggested that it was the billywig.

“Calm down Miss Brown.” Professor Grubbly-Plank strode towards them, voice sharp. Lavender didn’t stop flailing, but did obligingly close her mouth.

“It escaped, Professor!” Parvati’s voice was earnest and slightly panicked.

“I can see that, Miss Patil,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said. “Miss Brown, I said _calm down_. The more you move the higher the chances are of getting stung.”

Lavender’s arms dropped to her side almost instantly.

Grubbly-Plank pulled out her wand, presumably preparing to summon the creature back. Harry wad distracted by something fluttering out of the corner of his eye. Quidditch reflexes died hard, even years after the last game, and he reached out to grab whatever it was. His hand closed around something that buzzed angrily and when he brought it closer he saw that it was bright blue and in possession of a rather wicked looking stinger instead of a tail. It was trying furiously to escape and he reflexively closed his fist tighter around it.

“Careful Mr. Potter!” Grubbly-Plank had apparently noticed his catch and was now coming towards him, wand still out. Harry forced himself not to shy away from the sight of someone pointing a wand in his direction.

“Er, what do you want me to do with this?” he wanted to know.

“Release it on the count of three,” she instructed. “It should fly away from you, at which point we will guide it into the cage.”

Harry nodded. “Right,” he said. They’d attracted the attention of everyone else in the class by now, and Harry reminded himself sharply that he couldn’t look to Ron and Hermione for support and commiseration. Instead he focused on Grubbly-Plank.

“One, two, three!” she called, and Harry opened his hand to release the insect. It darted away, still buzzing furiously. He waited for Grubbly-Plank to do whatever she needed to draw the thing back to the cage, but she only peered into the air around him.

“Do you see it, Professor?” Parvati asked anxiously.

“Quiet,” Grubbly-Plank snapped. “Do you see it Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head, also looking around. Something blue caught his eye and he whirled, but it was only Su Li’s tie fluttering in the wind. He turned back towards Grubbly-Plank, eyes scanning the surrounding area once again.

“Harry, look out!” Lavender’s exclamation made him tense and automatically reach for his wand. He felt something sting his free hand and swatted it away instinctively. A moment later the billywig zoomed into Grubbly-Plank’s outstretched hand and she deposited the slightly stunned creature into the cage.

“Did it sting you, Mr. Potter?” she asked.

“I think so,” Harry said, examining his hand. He couldn’t see any marks, though that didn’t mean much. “Is it dangerous?”

“Had you been paying attention, you would know that the after-effects of being stung are, at most, inconvenient. Nevertheless, you are dismissed. Should you choose not to seek out Madame Pomfrey’s help, I will not be excusing you from your next class.”

Harry nodded. He was starting to feel rather strange. Without a word he grabbed his bag and made his way back up to the castle. Hopefully he could get to the Room of Requirement before the sting took effect. The possibility of missing class didn’t bother him, but he would much rather endure whatever was about to happen in private.

By the time he got to the castle he was feeling distinctly odd. It was a naggingly familiar sensation, though he couldn’t quite pace it. He picked up the pace once inside, bookbag slapping against his leg with every step. For some reason that didn’t irritate him as much as it had earlier that day. It was almost funny, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall’s surprised voice caused him to stop. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Got out early,” he said, grinning.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you quite all right?” she wanted to know.

“Never better,” he said cheerfully. “Why do you ask?”

Instead of answering she just shook her head. “You came from Care of Magical Creatures, did you not?”

“Yep!”

“I see.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “On your way then. And Potter?”

“Yes?”

“I would suggest you visit Madame Pomfrey.” With that she turned and strode away, feet clicking on the stone floor. Harry watched her go, overcome with the urge to laugh. He swallowed it as best he could and started walking again.

The strange feeling increased rapidly, as did the nagging sense of familiarity. That familiarity didn’t bother Harry. If anything, it struck him as distinctly comical, and the urge to laugh grew. Looking around he saw that he was alone, and he gave in. Why shouldn’t he laugh, after all? It was his right as a human being to find things funny! Why had he been in such a bad mood earlier, anyway? Sure, everything was different and no one really liked him, but they were all _alive_! Everyone he loved was still alive and well! Hell, _Sirius_ might even still be alive! There was no reason to suspect the worst, not when this was a brand new dimension filled with untapped potential.

His face hurt from grinning by the time he reached the third floor, and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy, possibly from a lack of oxygen. He couldn’t remember having laughed so hard, and he decided then and there to do it more often. Really, the world wasn’t _that_ grim!

He was feeling distinctly light headed as he climbed up to the fourth floor. If it got any worse it would stop being fun, but Harry didn’t think about that, too caught up in enjoying the sensation. He felt light on his feet, so light he almost thought he might fly away. Even as the thought crossed his mind he stumbled on the stairs and instead of falling down he found himself falling _up_. He let out a startled giggle, watching with fascination as his feet came to rest on precisely nothing. He tried to take a step, failed miserably, and reflexively swung his arms to keep the balance he was in no danger of losing.

He stilled, looking down at the ground. His feet hovered a good six inches in the air now and, though he showed no signs of going higher, he couldn’t begin to figure out how to move. The situation was still funny, but a sliver of practicality forced its way through his addled brain and remarked that he probably shouldn’t be blocking the stairs like this. He tilted his head, considering the best way to deal with this situation. One hand went reflexively to his wand even as his inner voice, which sounded oddly chipper, reminded him that he couldn’t actually use it. He considered trying anyway – blasting a hole in the stairs would be fun and it might provide him with some momentum. Of course then Filtch would put him in detention until he finished school, and even altered as he was the idea of detention with Filtch was unappealing.

The feeling, one Harry had _finally_ managed to identify as intense happiness, was slowly starting to wear off and he could finally properly take stock of his situation. He reached out with his right hand, groping for something, anything to use as mobility help. His hand closed on the banister and he pulled himself towards it, mildly impressed by how light he felt. It didn’t beat actually flying, but he certainly wouldn’t mind doing this again. He reached out with his other hand and gripped the banister a little ways up, pulling himself towards that. It made for slow going – his arms weren’t nearly as used to supporting his weight as his legs – but at least he was moving. How he would manage when he reached the top of the stairs was a question banished to the time when that actually happened.

His arms ached before he’d gone more than halfway up but he gritted his teeth and ignored it, swearing that he would do something about this body’s rather appalling physical shape as soon as he figure out how to make his feet rest on the ground again. When he finally did reach the top he continued along the banister until it turned into stone wall, then used the slightly uneven stones as levers to keep moving. His pace slowed further and he found himself practically _longing_ for his invisibility cloak. With that at least he could just stay still until this wore off.

An open door stood a few feet away and he focused his efforts on getting to it. If he remembered correctly it led to an unused classroom. The layout of the castle could very well be different here, but at least that door was a goal.

The room did indeed prove to be empty and it was with profound relief that Harry pulled himself inside and closed the door. The momentum caused by the closing door shot him a little ways into the room, out of reach of anything solid, and he hovered there, stuck. As complications went, it was by far the most minimal of the past few days, and he allowed himself a long sigh of relief. All he had to do now was wait for the sting to wear off, hopefully before anyone needed the room or realized he was missing. He lowered himself to a seat, crossing his legs and not looking at the ground. Maybe when he got back home Hermione would know more about these things. The high had been nice, though a little excessive, and floating would be quite fun if he possessed the ability to move himself around magically. Maybe they could take the stings and alter the venom in some way to make it useful as a stress relief. _If there’s anyone left who needs stress relieved_ , something whispered in him and Harry pretended not to have heard.

* * *

 

By the time the levitation had finally worn off Harry was bored, restless, and angry. He’d tried doing Occlumancy exercises to pass the time, but that only reminded him of the other Harry and he wasn’t really ready to properly deal with that yet. Adjust to this reality first, deal with alternate self later. He shushed the voice in his head that would always sound like Hermione when it reminded him that the other Harry had a lot more right to the body than he did and pretended he didn’t miss her. He never had been all that good at lying to himself, not when doing so blinded him to the reality of the situation at hand and usually got people killed, but this time he was willing to give it a shot.

His legs wobbled when he finally did touch the ground again and he nearly lost his balance. Slowly, he maneuvered out of the room, giving his legs time to readjust to holding his weight once more. A glance at his watch showed that he could still make it down to dinner if he hurried, and a loud rumble of his stomach convinced him to at least try. He hadn’t seen any of the people here in a few hours; surely he could handle being in the same room with them for a few minutes while he ate.

Ten minutes later he was sitting at the very end of the Gryffindor table poking at his green beans and thinking extremely uncharitable thoughts about House Elves who didn’t let students eat in the kitchens. A little ways away Hermione was sending him worried looks which she probably thought were subtle, and further still towards the middle Neville held court, Ron by his side. Harry wondered if he should be thankful to Dumbledore for sending him to the Dursleys after all; if this Neville was any indication of what growing up in the Wizarding world as Boy-Who-Lived meant, Harry was glad to have missed out. Rita Skeeter must have had a field day with him.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Malfoy swaggering towards him, face contorted into his usual sneer.

“Finally dared show your face, did you Potter? You’re just a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

Harry ignored him, taking a bite of his green beans. Back home Malfoy matured into a capable fighter, though nowhere near as good as his father. Circumstance had, if nothing else, given him a fair amount of fake poise and a handle on his temper. The boy in front of him now had neither of those things and Harry dismissed him without much thought. Schoolyard bullies did not appropriate enemies make and all that.

“Are you listening to me Potter?” Malfoy demanded. He was probably scowling. Harry still didn’t look up.

“Poor pathetic Potter,” Malfoy said. “Can’t even look me in the eye like a man. It’s pathetic, how your family has fallen. Not that the Potters were worth much to begin with, mind you.”

Next to him, someone giggled. It sounded like Pansy Parkinson, who was probably fawning over Malfoy as much as ever.

“Oy, Malfoy, leave him alone.” Harry did look up at that, turning his head to see Ron and Neville in the act of standing up. He forced back a grimace.

Malfoy grinned, having presumably achieved the desired result. “Coming to Potter’s rescue, Longbottom? How sweet. I’ll be expecting the wedding announcement any day now.”

“Shut up Malfoy,” Neville snarled, coming closer. “Don’t you have better things to be doing? Like preening in front of the mirror or sending yourself fanmail?” Ron snickered, while Malfoy’s grin twisted into a veritable smirk.

“That’s more your territory, isn’t it Longbottom?” he drawled. “Tell me, how much of your mail do you send to yourself?”

“At least I don’t have to tell my parents to send me mail every morning to make me seem important,” Neville returned.

“That,” Malfoy said, “would be because you don’t have any.” Next to him Pansy laughed. Harry rolled his eyes.

“At least his died as heroes instead of living as jokes,” Ron said even as Neville added, “Go away Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “My parents are more important than yours _ever_ were,” he snarled. “Even _Potter_ had more important parents than you did and _his_ mum was a mudblood.”

Harry stiffened, bringing his head up with a jerk to glare at Malfoy. Hermione’s voice sounded in his mind telling him to be careful, but he ignored it. “Take it back,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

Malfoy smirked again. “Hit a nerve, did we Potter?” he asked. “Don’t like to hear the truth about your precious parents? It was such a scandal, you know, your dad running off with some upstart mudblood like that.”

Harry’s fists clenched and he forced himself to stay seated. “I said,” he gritted, “take it back.”

“Or what?” Malfoy asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll blubber at me?”

Harry rose. He was shorter than Malfoy, but he had more than enough experience looming over people taller than him, and he used all of it now to make Malfoy take a step back. Somehow, his wand had found its way into his right hand.

“We’ll handle this Harry,” Neville assured him, probably also glaring at Malfoy. Harry ignored him.

“My mother is worth a thousand of yours and if you don’t apologize for what you said you will regret it.” His voice trembled slightly with suppressed rage. The voice in his head that sounded like Hermione screamed that this was ridiculous, that it was just Malfoy, that he’d heard worse. He ignored it.

Malfoy looked just a touch uncertain, but he covered it with bluster and said, probably more loudly than necessary, “You don’t scare me Potter. You’re too pathetic to scare a flobberworm. I bet your parents were glad to die rather than raise such a pathetic son.” Harry wasn’t sure whether it was misplaced superiority or simple stupidity that made Malfoy refuse to shut up about the Potters and he didn’t care. His wand was out and pointed at the blond Slytherin before the latter had finished his sentence. Malfoy drew his own wand, and Harry bit back the instinct to immediately disarm him and snap his wand.

“Last chance,” Harry said.

“You don’t scare me,” Malfoy repeated, though he looked even more uncertain. “You can’t hex me in school.”

Harry snorted. “Like hell I can’t,” he said, closing the distance between himself and Malfoy in half a stride and pointing his wand directly at the other’s forehead. Malfoy stumbled back and Harry kept pace.

“What is the meaning of this?” An outraged voice caught both of them off guard – later Harry would berate himself for being so distracted by the confrontation – and Harry shifted slightly so as to look at the newcomer without taking his wand away from Malfoy’s face. Professors McGonagall and Snape were striding purposefully towards them, both looking furious.

“Potter attacked me,” Malfoy said, eyes wide and earnest. He played the victim well. Harry decided it must be genetic; Lucius had managed to weasel his way out of trouble just as often with that trick. “I was just passing by and he drew his wand on me!”

“You’re lying,” Neville cut in with a scowl in Malfoy’s direction. “You started it!”

“ _We_ were the ones minding our own business when he started in on us,” Ron added. McGonagall turned to glance over at them. Snape didn’t.

“Regardless of who started it, students are not allowed to draw their wands on each other except in a classroom setting,” McGonagall said firmly. “Potter, Malfoy, you will both lose twenty points and receive detention.”

“It appears to me,” Snape interjected smoothly. “That Potter is the aggressor. Thirty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student.” Harry glared at him, angry despite being unsurprised. Snape, apparently, hadn’t changed a bit. Of all the people to remain constant across universes Harry wouldn’t have chosen _Snape_ , though admittedly the idea of Snape being nice was even worse.

Neville and Ron both sputtered in outrage – more for the loss of points than the unfairness of the situation, probably – and even Professor McGonagall’s lips compressed in that way that meant she was angry. “Severus, I really don’t think,” she began, but Malfoy interrupted her.

“Get that _away_ from me!” Harry’s wand hadn’t budged from its place on his forehead. Somewhere, this dimension’s Hermione was probably having a panic attack.

“Potter!” Professor McGonagall said. “Stop threatening Mr. Malfoy at once!”

Harry glared at Malfoy but reluctantly lowered his wand. The blond’s burgeoning smirk was immediately wiped from his face when Harry punched him square in the face instead. Malfoy stumbled back, almost knocking a horrified Pansy Parkinson to the ground. Crimson blood started seeping from his nose.

“Potter!” McGonagall and Snape said at the same time, the former sounding horrified and the latter furious. Behind him the Gryffindor table had taken a collective shocked gasp; he would probably be getting congratulated within half an hour.

“Severus, why don’t you escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing,” McGonagall suggested, voice tight. “I assure you I will deal severely with Mr. Potter.”

Snape looked very much like he wanted to object, but Malfoy was still bleeding and he’d started whimpering now, so Snape just gestured for the blond to follow him and swept away without a word. Harry absently massaged the knuckles of his left hand; it barely even stung. Punching Malfoy was nothing compared to trying to punch Death Eater masks.

 _That was right_ , he thought as he followed a livid McGonagall out of the Great Hall. _It did feel good_. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt the other Harry respond with something that might almost have been laughter.


End file.
